With a cry of joy Mollie swept the beautiful baby into her arms. She had never had a doll since she arrived at the farm. All her dolls had been live babies. But this one looked like the doll she remembered playing with in the long ago, when she played by her mother's knee. And this one could walk and talk! She snatched up the shawl and wrapped it about the child, preparatory to dashing with it through the rain to the barn. Peter reached forth his begrimed hand and dragged the shawl away. He did not speak. The action sufficed. Mollie stared out at the storm and wondered what to do. The baby must be covered and it must be fed. With two quick, bird-like darts she caught up food that lay within reach and which Maria would not miss, pulled off the old coat which she had been holding over her own head and wrapped it tightly about the new baby. Then, totally unprotected herself, she dashed out into the storm. Five minutes later the roly-poly baby girl was holding a levee in the barn loft and trying to tell the children her name. Patiently, and with irresistible smiles, she pronounced it again and again, but not one of those who heard could understand or pronounce it after her. "Yo' must go ter sleep, now, honey," said Mollie, as she made a place for the child upon one of the make-shift beds. "Shut them pretty eyes tight an' see whut nice things yo'll see." The child, having already been aroused from sleep to make the trip and now wearied by excitement, sweetly obeyed Mollie's urging and promptly fell asleep. But there was no rest for Mollie. Little Amy's plaintive moans rent her heart. She had never seen anyone die, but she knew, instinctively that the frail little creature would not live through the night. There was nothing more she could do. For weeks she had been doing everything she could possibly think of to sooth and cure the sick baby but evidently her prayers were not going to be answered. God had not even indicated that he had received their message on the kite. It was very strange. She could not understand it. And she was tired--very, very tired. Her head nodded forward, but she drew herself up hastily and forced her eyes wide open. She must not sleep-she must not sleep. Something strange and miraculous was going to happen to Amy. She must keep watch and see what it was. Perhaps the child might awake and be frightened--It was still now in the loft. All the children were asleep, herself, was the only one awake, and she was very, very tired!--She leaned her head back against an upright post that supported the root and gazed down upon the dying child in her lap. No, she would not go to sleep, but she would close her eyes--and rest them--for one, little minute. Just one minute. Then Mollie gave a little sigh, and closed her eyes. CHAPTER XVI THE AWAKENING "He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in his bosom."--Isaiah x, 11